We are living in a strange desert of agony
We are living in the river of life full of illusions
The winds have written all our mistakes
Yet we are not reading them and living
In the canopy of our lonely minds
Even you, oh dear, have been obliterated
From my mind and memory for the moment
It seems we are living only under the rubble
Of our vague and idle thoughts
That blessed bird under whose shadow
We are trying to find shelter
Is itself quite helpless under the conditions
There are the showers of death everywhere
And we are forced yet to live
Every moment we are so terrified
As if we are living in a town of glasses.